


In The End

by Books_and_Cats_and_Coffee



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Good Slade Wilson, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 17:46:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15635640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Books_and_Cats_and_Coffee/pseuds/Books_and_Cats_and_Coffee
Summary: Star City 2050Destruction has swept across the entire earth. Vigilantes and heroes are now an endangered species. Five remaining figures battle to stave back the impending ruin, but they stand little chance. On the brink of death, Slade Wilson is rescued by an unexpected savior, and the future of the multiverse now rests in his hands.The instructions he was given were simple;Go back in time, and stop the war from happening, but to do so, Slade will have to accept an ugly truth.(Republished)





	In The End

Carnage.

It was all around them, blood and fire, suffering and screams. The stars themselves were blacked out as if some giant had plucked them from the sky and hurled them to earth. Guns barked as the darkly armored figures walked through the streets, killing or destroying anything in their path.

A woman pushed herself up out of the rubble, unleashing a sonic blast of noise from her mouth. The two men she aimed it stumbled momentarily, and she took that advantage, firing off her gun. She squeezed off seventeen shots, and one of them collapsed to his knees.

Blood rain down the side of her face, matted with dirt in her blonde hair. Her clothes were ripped and stained, revealing several wounds and torn patches of skin. She favored her left arm, the shoulder at a strange and unusual angle. She opened her mouth, screaming again.

This time, the attacker was prepared for it, he squared himself, barely moving. She ran out of breath. She fired three bullets into the mask eye hole. He was nearly on top of her when he finally dropped, one of his bullets had hit her stomach, and she pressed a hand there, feeling blood seep through. Weakness turned her limbs to lead, the woman struggled to even stand, the gun dropped by her side, its barrel pointed to the ground.

“You’re the one who's been so much trouble,” she looked up towards the voice, seeing the man watching her, head tipped slightly to the left. Hand shaking with pain and strain, the woman moved her gun up again.

“Got anything else,” she spat, blood clotted in her mouth, some of it escaping to rivet down her chin. The rebellion in her eyes didn’t falter, even when the man raised his own gun, pointing at her directly. He took several steps closer, and her finger tightened on the trigger. The man stopped, giving a small, almost exasperated sigh.

“You’re out of bullets,” he told her matter-of-factly. The woman pulled the trigger, the gun clicked on an empty magazine. She tossed it aside, drawing in a breath. The man fired first. The small bullet slammed into her throat, and the woman gasped for air. His second bullet was just as carefully placed, puncturing her lung. Slowly, she collapsed, trying as hard as she could to stay upright. The man walked over, crouching next to her.

“I thought some of you would eventually learn,” he said conversationally. “But it doesn’t matter, your friends aren’t so much of a threat.” He pressed the barrel of the gun against her chest, directly over her heart. “But now you only have to worry about how long it’ll take for you to die. I can make it short.”

The arrow came from above, slamming into the man’s wrist and forcing him to drop the gun. He only gave a small start, showing no recognition of pain as he pulled the arrow out, taking a step away from the woman as he pulled out another weapon.

“You just don’t know how to fucking die.” He snarled, glaring into the shadows that surrounded them. The sound of a bow being drawn came to him, and he caught the next arrow, spinning to snatch it from the air.

The green-clad archer dropped to the ground, straightening and bringing the bow back to full draw. “Step away from her.” He said, voice a low growl. The man gave a small, unamused laugh, the sound ugly.

“What do you really hope to do? Stop all this?” he asked, walking forward. The archer didn’t give ground, eyes dark. His rough beard had obviously had several weeks of untamed growth, giving him an almost scruffy appearance.

“This isn’t going to end how you think,” the archer replied, voice hard. The other man, younger by at least ten years, stopped walking towards him.

“There’s nothing you can do to stop it,” he said. “You know that, Oliver. It’s over.” His accent thickened the words. For a moment, the archer was still.

“We’ll see about that,” he fired an arrow, and space exploded in sparks and smoke. By the time it cleared, both the archer and the woman were gone, leaving the man standing alone.

**_X X X X_ **

The green archer rushed down the steps, carrying the woman as carefully as he could. The space he came into had a low ceiling and no windows, the foundation of another, larger space. It was empty and cold, but as of yet, it was their only safe space. He set the woman on a table, and she linked her hand with his pain clear on her features.

“None of it mattered,” her words were hoarse and rough, difficult for her to force out. He squeezed her hand tight as she tried to laugh. “I think that’s an old song.” His hand brushed over both bullet wounds in her torso, lingering over the one in her lung. Her eyes pleaded with him, belying her light words. “Please, Oliver.”

“You’re okay, Laurel,” He leaned forward pressing his lips against her forehead. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes, but no sobs came from her body. Her eyes closed tightly, hand still in his. She stiffened momentarily, breath stopping, hand loosening in his, and gently, the archer put her arm down, the slim blade stuck between her fourth and fifth rib, effectively piercing her heart. Reducing the suffering in the only way he could.

He heard a footstep behind him and whirled, bow coming up, an arrow set to the string. The blonde girl pushed her yellow hood back, pulling down her black mask and revealing her familiar features, hands held wide.

“Just us,” she told him, and the green archer set aside his bow. The man with her, small in stature with one arm gleaming silver under his sleeve, looked past the green archer to the table, uttering a soft curse.

“Fuck. They got to her?” he asked. The green archer nodded once, not speaking for several minutes.

“I found her in a street,” he finally said. “She took down two Ravagers, but Jericho got to her.” He spoke in a clipped, detached way as if speaking about the death of some distant celebrity and not the woman he had treated so gently seconds before. “Any news?” he asked. The girl shook her head.

“Everything’s the same,” she reported. “We get out who we can, but leave too many behind, and we’re running of safe places to send them. We’re outnumbered.” The green archer looked around him, calculating quickly.

“Start bringing them here,” he said. “We’ll be able to fit two hundred at least. I’ll set up the thermal block. Roy, you go into the east quadrant.” The man nodded, checking his weapons and stalking over to a locker against the wall to pull out more ammunition. “Mia,” the girl looked at him. “Find whatever supplies you can. Food, medical, anything useful.” She nodded once, the gesture stiff. Roy looked over once again.

“No help?” he asked, though there was no hope in his tone. The green archer looked at him, and for a moment, the cold mask he wore chipped, the tiredness, the pain, the helplessness underneath was visible.

“Who would come?” he replied, voice quiet. “There’s no one left.”

Fighting exhaustion, Oliver Queen turned away, looking at the still figure of Laurel Lance, one last time. There was no time for a burial. He would have to leave her out in the street, to be found by the Ravagers and disrespected by their sneers. The Black Siren had sung her last, the last Canary was dead. Now, it was only the four of them, and what chance did they hold against an army? Against four armies?

**_X X X X_ **

Oliver crouched outside the newest addition to safe spaces, carefully adjusting the wires on the small screen plugged into the side. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake. Too many innocent lives were on the line. He couldn’t shake off Laurel’s last words. _It didn’t even matter._

Everything he had done, every fight he had fought, every wound he had inflicted or every wound he had received. None of it mattered now. None of it had achieved anything. He thought he had gotten far, that he had climbed the ladder to the top, that all of them had. But when he opened his eyes, they were all still at the bottom.

He forced himself to focus, shaking away the grogginess. The screen blinked green and he set it down. He reached towards his belt, pulling out the handheld communication device and flicking it on, holding it up to speak into it.

“Laurel’s down,” he said. It took a moment for the other to respond, but eventually, the deep voice did. Sounding extraordinarily calm despite the circumstances.

“They took the west quadrant,” it had only been a matter of time, Oliver knew, but hearing the news was worse. But he didn’t feel any shock or fear, the numbness made that impossible. He reached back, counting his arrows. He was running low, and he only had one replacement.

“Roy’s in the east, we’re moving everyone we can into the foundations,” he said. “Can you give him cover?” He was asking all of them to do so much, but all of them were already giving all they had. Soon, someone would cave.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” the other replied. Oliver knew he was lying. “If we can hide and outlast them, maybe we stand a chance of forming a resistance down the road.” He added. It was the only plan any of them had.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Oliver warned. It was the first time in longer than he could remember that he had said anything like that. “We can’t afford to lose someone else.” There was a small, self-deprecating sigh.

“The important thing is the citizens are safe,” came the reply. “And they have someone to lead them. Don’t waste your time kid, I’m getting old.” The line was ended before Oliver could formulate a reply. He stared at the com for a long moment, when had it all come to this?

**_X X X X_ **

Slade Wilson dropped the device back into its place, looking back over the side of the roof to the group below. He counted nearly fifty, and diving into the middle of them would be suicide. He looked through his bag, pulling out a small pouch with a dark, powdery substance inside. Several other items also came, until he had a makeshift bomb.

He looked it over one last time before he lobbed it, choosing his target carefully. The supports of the building across from the explosion, sending rubble flying into the Ravagers as the collapsing building acted as a sort of landslide. Confusion erupted, and taking the chance, Slade dropped himself over the edge, slowing his descent with a grapple he detached on the bottom.

He was rushed immediately and drew his sword to fend them off. They were fast, and strong, inhumanly so, fueled by the serum that ran in their veins. He was hard pressed to dodge and block, unable to take up the offensive from the sheer number of attackers.

Behind him, a man lifted his gun, but before he could fire, an arrow slammed into him. Slade cast a glance over his shoulder, dispatching the last one who had been able to attack after the explosion, the other writhed about and it was only a matter of time before they were healed enough to attack.

He collected several fallen guns, walking forward to execute each Ravager with multiple bullets to the head. The only thing that really killed them. Behind him, he heard someone doing the same. Finished, he turned around to face the archer.

“You don’t listen well,” he growled. Oliver didn’t even crack a smile, expression hard and emotionless.

“We have a problem,” he said. “Roy called in, almost the entire army was moved there, Jericho’s with them.” Slade nodded once, reaching down to strip two Ravagers of their ammo and guns.

“Then let’s go,” he said. “See if we can knock one army off the list.” Oliver nodded and the two started off at a run, taking shortcuts through the destroyed streets.

“We have other things to consider,” the archer said without slowing his pace. “If the Nazis, demons, the Dark League, if any of them move, we won’t know.”

“We need more allies,” Slade replied. “If there are any civilians who can use a weapon, we need them.” It was a desperate reach, but they were at that level now. If nothing changed, they would be slowly stomped to nonexistence.

Their conversation ended as they came into the east quadrant, immediately seeing the tail of the Ravager army. Oliver fired an exploding arrow and Slade fired through the smoke, hearing the dull noises that meant his bullets hit their intended targets. There was a sudden noise behind them and the ground itself erupted, flinging both of them high into the air before they slammed on shattered rock, shards raining down on top of them.

Next, to him, Oliver gasped aloud in pain, Slade was unable to check on him, a Ravager lurching forward to attack at that moment. Bullets slammed into the ground around them, Slade fired at the nearest attacker, standing up. They were slowly being encircled. He backed up, reaching down to grab Oliver’s arm.

The archer didn’t return his grasp. Slade cast him a quick glance, mouth going dry when he saw the damage, looking back up at the ring of Ravagers moving around them. Oliver pulled a rifle off a dead body, taking a belt as well.

“Get out of here,” he ordered brusquely. “Go find Jericho, let Roy get the people out. I’ll keep them busy.” Slade didn’t want to leave, but the slab of asphalt atop Oliver’s leg was too large to move, and from the way, blood leaked out around it, the archer couldn’t walk even if it would.

He wasted one moment to look down into the blue eyes, recalling every stage of their life. Allies, friends, brothers, enemies, allies once again. It was never supposed to go this way. “I-” He couldn’t form any words, there was so much he wanted to say, but none of it passed his lips. There was too much to say. Slade wanted, he longed to be able to say something that would relieve the pain.

_It wasn’t supposed to end like this._

But to Oliver, it was always the only end he saw. He squeezed Slade’s forearm, more emotion put into the gesture than he could ever say. His hand slipped down into Slade’s, and something was pushed into his palm.

“GO!”

Then, he turned away again, firing an arrow to explode and clear a way through the Ravagers, and Slade had no option but to move or be thrown by the explosion. He looked back once, seeing the Ravagers piling atop each other as they hurried to attack the archer, using every weapon they had. He saw the explosion as Oliver fired his last arrow. He heard the sickening noise of crunching bones.

_I am sorry, kid._

He ran, hearing screams ahead and forced himself faster, hating every step he took, unable to turn back. He came into a small area cleared of debris. A family of four knelt in the middle of a ring of masked Ravagers, an unmasked figure standing on a large chunk of stone, watching with a bored expression. His eyes settled on Slade, something victorious in their depths.

“I thought we might get your attention,” he remarked. Slade stalked forward, eye warily tracking each Ravagers’ movements and those of Jericho simultaneously.

“Let them go,” he growled. “And we can end this.” The man tipped his head, an expression of mock surprise in place.

“You finally dropped that ‘it’s not to late’ shit,” he said. “Took you long enough.” Slade moved closer, prepared to intervene if one of the Ravagers made a move to the family. Jericho stepped off the slab of rubble, landing lightly

“No, you’re long gone,” Slade replied bitterly. “I should have seen that before. But I couldn’t give up hope that I could get my son off of that path.” Jericho’s eyes flashed.

“You’re not my father,” he said, anger replacing his casual manner for the first time. It was a white burning rage that was frankly terrifying to behold. Slade stopped moving, arms crossing as he watched the man.

“And it doesn’t bother you that sounds like the whining of a petulant child?” Slade risked the slight snark, driving Jericho further into his rage. “You’re destroying innocent lives.” He continued. “Ripping apart a city.”

“Don’t pretend like you’re fucking better than me,” Jericho took two fast steps, coming right up to Slade, gaze smoldering. It was what Slade had been hoping for, and he dropped the second makeshift bomb, leaping away at the last second. The blast threw Jericho several feet, confusing the Ravagers enough so that Slade was able to shoot down two of them, yelling to the family.

“GET OUT!” the two mothers were galvanized into action, each grabbing a child’s hand and running past Slade. His blade caught a Ravager from following, separating the man’s head from his shoulders. By that time, Jericho was climbing back to his feet, burned and torn flesh knitting itself back together.

"It’s almost funny,” Jericho hissed, eyes narrowed. “Seeing you pretend to be a fucking hero.” He lunged forward, blade swinging and Slade parried. “Like you did send your own army through these same streets some years ago.” Another furious strike, easy to block but bone jarring. “I’m just more thorough.” Slade ducked under his attack, rolling and coming up to slash at Jericho’s unprotected leg, slicing the tendon.

He came back to his feet, knee twinging in protest as his opponent gave a snarl of pain. “You weren’t always like this,” Slade circled him, lunging in to knock aside his attack and stab into his side. Another noise of pain. “Not long ago, you would have fought aside me.” There was only hate in the dark eyes that stared at him.

“Spare me the lecture,” he snarled. He kicked out, catching Slade’s bad knee and slashing a long gash across his unprotected chest. Slade grunted, swinging his forearm in the way before the blade could encounter his heart. “You used to be admirable. My hero,” he spat the words, swinging a violent overhand. “But now look at you, a tamed dog!” Slade rolled to avoid the stab. Jericho’s sword slammed into the ground. “Going wherever the bastard Oliver Queen tells you! Acting with that same goddamn self righteousness!”

Slade was up again, blood spilling from his chest even as every injury he had inflicted on Jericho healed over. He swung at his head, and Slade’s reaction was purely instinct. His own blade came up, slicing through Jericho’s wrist. The Damascus steel, honed to a razor edge, wasn’t stopped by bone or enhanced muscle.

Jericho screamed, pain and rage mixing in his voice like some wild animal. A bullet slammed into Slade’s back and he grunted, falling forward to catch himself on one arm. He looked back. The entire space was full of Ravagers, it was most of the army, and suddenly, it was blindingly obvious what had to be done.

He wasn’t making it out, and it this rate, he doubted any of them would. He reached into his belt for the small item Oliver had given him. It was the pike of modern science, a powerful bomb with a lingering poisonous gas.

He saw Jericho straighten, taking several steps forward to pick up his sword, stalking towards Slade. He paused above the kneeling figure, glaring down. “What you don’t see, is we’re the same.” He lifted his blade, and Slade pressed the top of the bomb, tossing it.

The world exploded in fire and pain. Decapitated body parts flew away from bodies, and Slade, even low as he was, still felt the explosion rip through him. He pulled up the checkered material of the familiar cloth about his neck just as the hiss of trapped gas came to his ears. Neither the Ravagers nor Jericho had been prepared for that.

They all fell down, coughing and hacking on the poisonous air. Jericho lets go of his weapon, eyes wide and staring at Slade. He was young again, sitting across the fire. His hands scrabbled on the loose rubble, trying to hold on to something. Slade dragged himself over, reaching the boy after a few agonizing seconds. Jericho’s movements stopped, he stared up into Slade’s face. Then, he smiled.

The blade jammed into Slade’s side, forced through material and skin alike until only the hilt remained. The unexpected pain caused him to lurch back, losing his hold on the material as it slipped off his face. He tried not to breath, but by that point, he didn’t particularly. He had seen the Ravagers pile over Oliver, breaking his bones and mutilating him. He had seen Joe die to become Jericho, now even Jericho was dead. What did it matter?

They were all dead.

He fell back, and a bright light shined into his eyes. It blurred, and Slade slipped away.

**_X X X X_ **

He awoke with a start, body wracked with pain but still alive. He sat up immediately, reaching for a weapon but finding none. He stepped off of the medical chair, and slipped forward carefully, looking about him before taking a corner. A cold, dark hallway stretched in front of him, silver metal composing the walls. It felt strangely empty.

“Hello, Mr. Wilson,” the cool female voice caught him by surprise, and Slade swore violently, swinging back and forth to stare about him.

“Where are you?” He demanded, his hands clenching into fists. “And where the fuck am I?”

“You are in the Waverider,” the voice responded. “It is the time ship used by the Legends.” Slade glared about him, still searching for the speaker.

“The Legends are dead,” he snapped.

“Everyone is dead,” she corrected. “Or they will be.” He knew that already, there was no way around that horrible truth. They were fighting because they had to, not because they actually had any sort of chance.

“Then why am I here?” Slade asked. “Why am I not dead?”

“I saved you,” this voice sounded much more real and he turned to see a tall, fair-skinned brunette regarding him. Her English accent was smooth and reassuring if Slade had wanted to be reassured. Instead, he stalked towards her, bothered when she didn’t move or show any sign of unease.

“Why?” he snapped. “You said it yourself, everyone will be dead.” She acknowledged his point, dipping her head.

“Yes. Which is why another tactic is required,” she replied.

“And you have one?” Slade asked, crossing his arms.

“You are our last resort,” her expression was serious. “The fate of not only this earth but of the multiverse is upon you.”

“There’s nothing else I can do, lady,” he growled. “This is shit field what we’re left with.”

“On the contrary,” she turned away from him. “You can save us. By going back in time.” Slade frowned, confusion clear on his features despite his attempts to hide it.

“Sara said time could not be screwed with,” he said, not understanding. If this could have been prevented, why had the Legends not done so? Once again, the woman acknowledged his point.

“We refrain from changing the past for fear of changing the future,” she explained. “However now, the future must be changed. For the past twenty years, things have been put into motion which brought the events of today to fruition. There is no future past this. Every possible outcome is slavery. The best result is the Four Armies stay on this earth. The worst is they spread throughout the entire multiverse.”

“I will do whatever it takes,” Slade said voice quiet but sure. “Where do I begin?”

“I will send you back to the time I calculated to be the beginning of all of this,” she said. “You will alter the events of the past by stopping mistakes or changing decisions.” She told him. “I will spend all of my resources and ability preparing to not only send you back but set you into the timeline. By telling you this I mean if you should fail, I may not assist you.” Slade nodded, what else had he expected.

“How will I know if I managed?” he asked. She gestured back into the medical room, and he walked further in to look at the table, seeing the small silver round device. He picked it up, confused.

“I have uploaded a copy of my conscious, programming and knowledge onto this device,” the woman told him. Slade didn’t understand anything she had said, and after a moment, the woman rephrased. “I am Gideon. This ship’s interactive AI.” His expression didn’t change. “I am an artificially intelligent program for this ship that controls and assists the captain with knowledge.” It made sense, but barely.

“Then why do you look like a human?” Slade asked bluntly.

“I thought it would be easier to converse with you if I took on a human form,” Gideon replied. “Therefore, I projected myself as a hologram.” Slade turned away, refusing to let himself get more confused.

“More importantly, Mr. Wilson,” she said. “I will finish explaining your mission to you. Your conscious will be merged into the body of your younger self, meaning you will be firmly placed in that timeline. You must always be on guard for what might have assisted in this war. Do not repeat the same mistakes.” The clarity of it all came to him.

“I’m reliving my life,” he muttered, more to himself.

“Only some of it,” Gideon corrected. He merely stared at her. “Be careful, Mr. Wilson, the future wants to happen. You may change much, but this might still come to be. I have found one specific element off of which all of this pivots if that element is destroyed, there should not be enough to trigger all of these events.”

He thought of Oliver once again, of everyone else who had died. Sara, Thea, Rose, that Allen kid, William. He was willing to do whatever it took. “I understand.”

“Excellent, then let us begin.”

**_X X X X_ **

Everything hurt, but it was the dull ache of bruises and sudden impact, not the searing pain of blades. Slade grumbled to himself, pushing out of the thick undergrowth to stare about him. Where had the AI sent him?

Suddenly, there was a noise not far to his left. Slade spun, hand reaching for the sword across his back as another man stumbled to his feet, a nasty bruise on his face. He looked at Slade, and the latter struggled to find words to speak.

“Well mate, that’s one way to land,” said William Wintergreen.

**Author's Note:**

> First, the elephant in the room. I owe anyone who was reading my works a massive apology. A couple weeks ago, I had something of a breakdown and orphaned two works, then deleted all the others and my account. By the time I had calmed down, I couldn't find my story files and those took some time to recover. I want to continue writing on AO3 but my output will be slowed down to working on a single story at a time. (If I try to start multiple again, someone please stop me). The second chapter of this story is nearly complete and should be up in a few days.


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